The guests had all been gathered on the opposite end of the room in a cluster. There were no other rooms in the building that were large enough to house them all, and Mannor didn’t want them standing outside among the crowds of protestors and risking anyone leaving before he could question them.
Things would get very messy and complicated very quickly. It already was with a murder being displayed so brazenly like this in front of a whole event room.
A few of the beat cops who had been there to keep the protestors at bay had been tasked with asking some preliminary questions but getting the info first hand was more important to the detective—as Bert knew well. They would get contact info from each person, one-by-one, and then send them on their way until they were needed for further questioning.
Luckily, most of the guests were all staying at a nearby hotel in the downtown area which had been booked for the event.
“Okay, boys. Bring that screen down, will you?” Mannor called to his men who were backstage. A squeaking noise accompanied the large white stage scrim as it lowered just far enough to block the view of the body but leave enough room for the detective and other crime scene technicians to crouch underneath and get in and out. It seemed to be the only way to retain some balance of respect and decency while also dealing with the witnesses.
With his hands on his hips, Detective Mannor looked over his shoulder to see the two women still standing there right behind him. Scowling, he faced them. “Why are you two over here still? Get back with the other guests.”
“We’re just concerned citizens,” Carla jumped in defensively.
His expression didn’t change. “Well, isn’t that nice, ladies. You two can be concerned citizens with the plethora of other witnesses on the other side of the room. Until we have further instructions for you, don’t move from that spot.”
“But what’s going to happen?” Carla persisted, her eyes darting up to the scrim where she knew the body was still hanging.
Mannor shifted his focus from Carla over to Bert, a knowingly demanding look in his eyes. “Look, Bert. Can you please move over there? You don’t personally know the victim and he didn’t die in your shop . . . for once. You have no reason to be nosing into police business this time around.”
Bert wrinkled her nose. “I resent that comment, Harry,” she shot back, using his first name. For a man she’d gone on several dates with, he had a habit of switching from nice and gentle to rude and demanding in no time flat. His strangely jealous behavior from earlier also didn’t help Bert’s attitude toward him.
“I’m just saying it how it is,” he pointed out.
“You solved some of those murders because of me, you know.”
“And I would have done it without you as well,” he retorted, turning away from them and looking up at the scrim.
Bert placed a hand on her best friend’s shoulder. “Come on, Carla. Let’s do as the detective says.” She made sure to add a bite to her voice, letting him know that she was none too happy with his attitude.
He’d be lucky to ever get a date from her again, what with the way he’d been acting all day.
Guiding her friend toward the cluster of people, Mannor turned and called on them one more time. “Now, wait a minute, you two.”
“We are doing as you said and joining the other guests, Harry. Do you want us to stay here where you can ask us questions, or do you want us to go over there? Make up your mind,” Bert snapped.
Mannor tilted his head, his eyelids falling halfway in an unamused stare. “Just one more thing.”
“Well, what is it?” Bert demanded.
“Where is that brother of yours, Carla?” He tapped his fingers on his belt as he waited for an answer.
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Carla sniffed, turning her nose up in the air and marching away.
* * *
“Did you hear that nonsense? He thinks my brother is behind all this,” Carla said once they were out of earshot of the detective. They stood in the far corner, leaning against the wall.
“Can you blame him? He was seen threatening the victim earlier today and has been MIA since then.”
Carla’s jaw dropped. “Wait a minute. You don’t think it’s him, too, do you?”
“I’m not saying one way or another. The bigger thing is, do you think he is capable of doing this?” Bert asked. “You know him better than anyone here in Culver’s Hood.”
Carla made a scoffing sound in the back of her throat, folding her arms in a show of defiance. “I can’t believe you. My own best friend turning against me.”
“I’m not turning against you. I’m just asking. I mean, he did seem angry earlier. In fact, you were the one who was worried about him hurting someone.”
“Yes, but actually killing someone? He couldn’t do that. He might get upset sometimes, but he’d never kill anyone. Believe me.”
Bert put up both hands. “Okay, okay. I believe you.
“Do you?”
“Well, you were the one who said you were surprised he didn’t kill Travis earlier.”
Carla growled quietly. “You know I was just kidding.”
Bert pointed toward the stage. “And now there is a dead body up there. To Harry, this looks like more than a mere coincidence.”
“It wasn’t Sean.”
“I know. You already confirmed that.”
“And that stupid Detective of yours is just out to close this case before it’s even begun,” she hissed.
Bert was both surprised, and a little appalled by her best friend’s behavior. They’d known each other for years and had volunteered at countless church functions together, but she’d never seen this side of Carla. Bert was beginning to think that a short temper ran in the family.
“In case you forgot, he isn’t my detective. He isn’t my boyfriend or anything of the sort if that’s what you’re implying. We’ve just gone on a few dates—most of which were ones you pressured me into.” Bert was surprised at her own harsh tone, but in her experience, you just needed to call people out sometimes.
Carla’s face tightened, and a few veins appeared. “You’re on his side, aren’t you? How does it feel to betray your best friend?”
Now, this was just getting out of hand. Carla had gone from angry to paranoid in a matter of minutes. While Bert understood the need to protect your own family, it was no reason to turn on people. Putting up both hands in a surrendering motion, she tried to calm her down. “Hey, now. There is no reason to talk to me like that and you know it. From a woman who donates more toys and decorations each Christmas to less fortunate families than anyone else, who makes dinners for the members of our congregation in need, who never passes up a chance to offer charity to others, you’re sure not acting like it now.”
Some of the redness in Carla’s cheeks faded away and the tightness in her jaw lessened. Looking down at her feet, she licked her lips nervously.
“Carla?”
“I’m sorry, Bert. You’re totally right. I should never talk to you that way.”
“Thank you.” She put a hand on Carla’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I understand, you know? Murder is never easy to deal with, especially when your own family was seen threatening the victim.”
“Yeah,” she whispered.
“What’s really going on? I know you’re worried about your brother, but what’s really on your mind?”
“I don’t know, Bert. My brother is a sweet man, a real honest, hard worker.” She hesitated on her next thought. “But he does have a strong temper. He doesn’t often get mad, but when he does, it’s scary.”
Bert glanced over at the crime scene again, and at Detective Mannor. He and a few of his men were now standing on the stage just in front of the scrim talking. “Do you think your brother could have done this?”
“At this point, I don’t know. I don’t believe he could, but he’s been at it with Travis Shatner for years. I’d go so far as to say the two hate each other.”
“And y
ou believe Sean might have just snapped?”
Carla sighed. “No, I don’t. Still, I just hope we can find him and that he has an alibi for the last hour.”
CHAPTER 7
* * *
“At this point, unless we can find your brother and he can verify his whereabouts, Harry will peg him as the main suspect. He had a clear motive as well as the means,” Bert admitted.
“I know that,” Carla sighed, nervously shaking her hands.
“So, it’s going to be up to you and me to make sure he isn’t the only person in Harry’s lineup.”
Carla finally looked up from her shoes at her best friend. “How are we going to do that while we are stuck in this building?” Her voice was low, her eyes darting around the room at the other people standing there.
Bert looked around as well, seeing many strange and unfamiliar faces. “I think it’s pretty clear that most everyone who was out here eating lunch couldn’t have been the killer. I mean, we all saw the body together.”
“Wait a minute, Bert. What’s to say someone didn’t kill him and then come back out and have a seat like nothing was wrong? I mean, if the killer was smart, wouldn’t that be what he’d do?”
Bert glanced at all the faces one more time and sighed. “You’re right. Which means that this is going to be a lot more complicated than I originally suspected.”
“Someone could have pretended to go to the bathroom, done the killing, and come right back.”
“True, but it couldn’t have been a quick kill. I mean, you saw how many of those needles were sticking out of his body. Someone had to have set that all up for everyone to see.”
Carla made a slight gagging sound. “It’s horrible to think about. Who would do that to someone’s body and put them on display like that?”
Bert tapped a finger on her chin. “That’s true. You’d have to be pretty angry to put so much showmanship into your killing.”
“Showmanship? That makes it almost sound like a craft.”
“You’ve watched some of those serial killer documentaries with me. You know how crazy some of these people can be.”
Carla gasped. “Do you think it’s a serial killer?”
Bert shook her head. “Hardly. I’m just saying it must have been someone with a serious grudge. Maybe the murderer really wanted to show the body off, so everyone knew the guy got what he deserved.”
Carla’s jaw hung open in horror. “Got what he deserved?”
“You know what I mean. I’m not saying anyone deserves to be murdered, but the killer might see it differently.”
Carla rubbed her lips together in thought. “If that’s the case, then who has a strong motive like that?”
“Someone who really hated him.”
Hesitating for a moment, she formulated an idea, snapping her fingers. “I know. That woman we saw outside.”
“The protestor. The one who got up in the Travis’ face.”
Bert hummed thoughtfully. “That’s one option, but does she really have a motive for murder?”
“Who knows? Maybe it runs deeper than that. Someone with that much passion usually has a deep-rooted history behind their hate. Maybe she had gone to Travis as a chiropractor at some point in the past.”
“It’s certainly possible, but we’d need more solid evidence first. Right now, we’re just shooting in the dark.”
“Maybe it’s someone closer, then.”
Bert’s eyes widened, following her friend’s train of thought. “You mean his wife, Sharon?”
“Maybe their marriage was on the rocks. You saw how unhappy she seemed around him.”
“I did, it’s true.” Bert began scanning the room again, desperate to spot Travis’ wife. Where could she be? If the body was revealed in such a glorified manner, wouldn’t she have gone running up to the stage, fainted, or even screamed?
None of that had happened, which led Bert to believe the woman hadn’t even been in the room when the curtains were opened.
Finishing taking a steady look around the room confirmed her thoughts. Sharon Shatner didn’t appear to be anywhere in the room. “She’s not here.”
“Do you think that she killed him and took off?”
“Maybe, but I don’t want to jump to any conclusions—not yet.” Motioning for her friend to follow, she headed back toward the stage. “Come on. Let’s tell Harry.”
Detective Mannor, who was crouched on the ground looking under the scrim with one of the crime scene techs, turned his head and saw the women coming his way. Standing up with his arms crossed, he narrowed his eyes at them. “What did I tell you, ladies?”
“Hold on, Detective. We think we might have something here,” Carla said.
“Where is the victim’s wife?” Bert pressed.
“We’re looking for her now. I have men out and around the building trying to see if she left.”
“There you go. She fled the scene of the crime,” Carla jumped in a little too heatedly.
“Now, don’t go shooting off about any of your theories.” The detective clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “You know what? Why don’t you two head home? I know where you both live and I have your phone numbers. You don’t need to stick around.”
“You mean you don’t want us underfoot,” Bert pointed out.
“You’re darn right. Now scram,” he ordered, making a shooing motion with one hand.
* * *
“I can’t believe him. He knows darn well you’ve been a key element in solving previous homicide cases, Bert. How can he just turn us out in the cold like this. . . literally,” she complained, wrapping her red coat tightly around her body.
“Well, as mad as he makes me sometimes, we have to cut him some slack. He’s just trying to do his job by the book, you know,” Bert admitted, despite her own irritation at the man.
“Still.”
“Well, looks like your car is here,” she noted, pointing across the lot. “That means your brother took off on foot.”
“He doesn’t have a key to my car.”
“Do you remember what Sharon’s car looked like?” Bert asked, looking around the lot at the other vehicles parked there. She figured a few of the chiropractors had flown in for the luncheon but guessed that most had driven since they all lived in Nebraska proper.
“It was black wasn’t it? She and Travis arrived together.”
“That’s right,” Bert agreed, scanning the lot. “I don’t see it.”
“I’m telling you, she’s probably gone. She killed her husband and took off. By the time that the police realize it, she’ll be long gone.” Digging her keys out of the belly of her purse, Carla fumbled with them to find the one to the car. “I bet she’s heading for the border.”
Bert rolled her eyes. She knew that her friend had a habit of jumping to wild theories.
“Shoot,” Carla muttered as she lost her grip on the keys and they fell to the pavement.
Bending down to pick them up for her friend, Bert paused when she noticed some scraps of paper scattered about on the ground. Grabbing one of them, a gust of wind came by nearly ripping it from her fingers. It did, however, whip up the rest of the scraps into the air.
“Ooh, it’s so chilly. You’d think it would have warmed up by now.” Carla wrapped her arms around herself, holding her hand open for the keys.
Bert didn’t hand them over right away but was instead examining the scrap of paper.
“What’s that?”
“I’m not sure, but it looks like a piece of a check.” Looking closely, she realized she could make out the last name.
“Do you think it’s important?” Carla asked, leaning in for a look of her own.
“It could be nothing, but you never know. All I can see is that it was made out to someone named Handy.”
“Hold on,” Carla cut in, pulling the scrap up to her face. “Check this out. Look at the amount below that.”
Looking at where her friend’s manicured fingernail was pointing, she sa
w it too. Despite having the bottom half of the letters ripped off, Bert was almost positive she was looking at something amounting to ten thousand dollars. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Ten thousand dollars,” Carla gasped. “Who ripped up a check for ten thousand dollars?”
“More importantly, who wrote it?”
CHAPTER 8
* * *
“Do you really think this check might be a clue in the murder case?” Carla asked, navigating her car down the narrow cobblestone streets of the Old Market.
“I’d say it’s a strong possibility. I mean, who rips up a check for ten thousand dollars and leaves the scraps laying out in a public parking lot?”
“Someone who didn’t want the money, obviously.”
Bert nodded. “That much is apparent.”
Carla snapped her fingers. “I know. Maybe it was blackmail.”
Bert rose both eyebrows. “Ooh, interesting theory.”
“Right. Maybe someone was blackmailing Travis Shatner.”
“Or maybe he was blackmailing someone?” Bert countered. “He doesn’t exactly have a clean track record. That was apparent from both his wife and your brother.”
“Yes. In either case, he ended up dead because of it.”
“Maybe. We don’t know that for sure yet.”
“How can you say that? It was right outside the building where it happened. It’s a lot of money.”
Bert adjusted her seatbelt as they turned onto the street for Pies and Pages. “I realize that, but at the moment, the only tie we have between any of this is a mere coincidence.”
“But you said it was connected.”
“I said it might be connected. Heck, we don’t even know who this Handy character is or if he or she has any relation to Travis.”
Pulling into a metered parking space, Carla turned toward her friend. “I still say it’s connected.”
Bert kept quiet, not wanting to upset her overstressed friend again. Carla was a dreamer and was quick on the draw. Sometimes, that meant she clung to something, whether or not it was true. “Let’s worry about finding your brother first and nailing down the specifics about the murder later. I’ve just got to run in and check that Shiv is doing okay on her own. After that, you and I can drive all over downtown looking for him.”
Shamrock Pie Murder Page 4
